When Death Came For Me
by C.Watherston
Summary: When an old friend comes to visit, the old man is ready to leave. CHARACTER DEATH, through happy-glasses.


The old man rested in his easy chair, tired green eyes closed against the night time seeping through tattered curtains. His gnarled hands were crossed on an aged paunch, his shoulders hunched. Time and trials had shrivelled his body to a crippled shadow. He walked now with a walking stick, and his bones and old scars ached on cold nights. Mostly he would sit at the tavern down Main Street, supping ale or nursing a decanter of fine Whiskey, watching as the world went by. People spoke of his legend in hushed tones. They said he'd been a soldier once, Black Ops. They said he'd done things and seen things that had driven him crazy.

The old man didn't correct them.

His pride and joy sat on flattened wheels on his driveway, warping the rims. She hadn't been driven in years. It broke his heart, but he was too old now, too broken. Her rumbling purr hurt his heart.

Ah, his heart. He'd always had problems with his heart...

A young man would visit him sometimes. At first, he'd visited often, whenever he could spare a moment from college. Then he'd called every Sunday night, without fail at six o'clock. But times changed. Life went on. Ben had a family of his own now; two little boys and a girl with bright green eyes and a cheeky smile. They dropped around for holidays sometimes, but less and less. The old man was grouchy and snappy. Those visits were less than pleasant; Ben and his surrogate father always ended up fighting. About where he lived ("It's so out of the way, Dad! There's not even a hospital! If something happens-" "When a Reaper comes for me, Benny, I'll greet the bastard by name and go on my merry bloody way!"), about his drinking ("You shouldn't be drinking at your age" "Ah go jump, kid") and about the call he made every Sunday at breakfast ("It's not healthy, Dad..." "You watch your tongue, Ben. He gets the message just fine...")

Now the old man dozed in his easy chair. There were photographs spread across the dinner table. A life of turmoil and disaster and grief and indescribable joy.

Sam. Ah, his kid brother. He'd gone for good a few years ago, gently and easily, in his sleep. Free of demon blood and the Devil's words in his mouth. Seemed strange that he should go before him. he wondered what Sam's little piece of Heaven would be like. He wondered if he ever visited Ash or their mom and dad or Madison or any of the others that had been left by the wayside.

Then Lisa. He'd drunk himself stupid when Lisa passed of a heart failure. Ben couldn't reach him. Nearly broke the kid's heart. Thinking about it now, that was probably the point that he and Ben had begun to drift apart. She'd been so beautiful. She'd saved his life in more ways than one, and she'd given him the happiest years of his life.

There were old prints aged yellow and streaked from folding and refolded and being splattered with blood and water and left to the elements. There was one of him and Sam and John, sitting on the bonnet of the Impala grinning at the camera. There was a copy of the infamous Hunter's picture; Bobby, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Ellen and Jo, waiting for the end of the world. There was one that Jo must have snapped; him leaning on the bonnet, Sam sitting beside him, leaning on his long legs. They both looked at the camera, beers in their hands. He had his usual smirk, confident and easy and Sam looked with just a hint of a smile in his fathomless eyes.

Yeah. Time went on and life always found a way.

He pushed his eyes open and yawned, scratching his chest slowly. He could feel the presence at the back of the room, waiting for him to notice him. He stood languidly and ambled to the dinner table to look at the pictures again. He picked up one of he and Ben at a baseball game and smiled softly. Then, with the shadow of the lightning hand he'd once had, he snapped his trusty hand gun up and fired a single shot. He staggered against the wall and pressed his hand to the smoking wound in surprise. Then he raised an eyebrow, with all the silent danger of pulling back the spring of a crossbow.

"Now, Dean. You know you can't stop this" he said in his dry, cool way. He lowered the gun and grinned, the same light in his eyes that she'd seen a thousand times before. Then the light faded, but the humour didn't.

"No. Just reminded you who you're picking up" he said softly. He raised an eyebrow, still wary. Dean put the gun in the waistband of his jeans and turned his back. Slung over the back of his chair was the leather jacket he hadn't worn in years. He ran a hand over the worn, scarred leather and swung it on. It settled in the shape of what his body had been twenty years ago and he felt withered and faded, enveloped in the empty spaces. Now he turned.

"I've just got a call to make"

Death nodded and watched him as he went to his bedside table and took out a long outdated old flip phone. Carefully he opened it and hit speed dial. He sat on the edge of his bed.

"_Hi its Sam. Leave a message" _

"Heya Sammy. So...this is it. I'll see ya real soon, with any luck. Bye"

He carefully replaced the phone and stood up, walking out. Death was still standing where he'd left him, both hands resting crisply on his walking stick.

He listened for a moment.

"Is something the matter, Dean?"

"Well every other time I've done this, there's always been more blood and pain and...Hell Hounds"

He almost cracked a smile. It was a creepy, malicious thing without the Horseman meaning it to be.

"Not this time, Dean"

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh goody. Alright, honey. Let's go"

Death cocked his head to the side.

"That's it. No deal? No...sickle or gun or Devil's Trap?"

He laughed.

"Have you seen me? I was over it fifteen years ago, love, when you picked up Lisa-" he nodded to himself and pursed his lips a little- "Yeah...I'm ready go, man"

Death held out his hand.

"Very few men come to me as my equal, Dean Winchester. I'm sure that will not do your overinflated ego any good"

Dean grinned and took the dry, papery hand offered to him. For a moment he was four years old, taking his father's hand as he crossed the road. For a moment he was fourteen and Sophie whatshername offered her his hand as they climbed to the very top of the stands to make out. For a moment he was reached to shake a sheriff's hand and ask him if he knew where the vessel of Gabriel was. For a moment he was reaching for Sam's arm as the damn kid tried to take off and do something dumb. For a moment he was reaching for Jo. For a moment he was trying to hold onto John for just a moment longer.

And then...

He was standing before them all. They immediately began to whoop and cheer. His mother had tears in her eyes as she floated forward serenely to kiss him with that puff of almost forgotten perfume. There was Lisa, kissing him like they'd just stopped yesterday, looking as young and beautiful and untouched as he'd left her. There was Ash, leaning on a pool cue, and Bobby, hailing him with a glass of beer, standing at a bar next to his dad, who was waiting patiently for the mob to die down. There was Sam and Adam. There was Ellen, behind the bar. There was Jo, giving him a wink from the jukebox. REO Speedwagon began to play and he laughed.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Castiel stuck his head in, looking like Jimmy the vessel. He spied Dean and actually almost smiled.

"I was afraid I'd be late" he commented and came inside. Dean laughed again and threw his arm around the angel. His other arm was around Lisa's waist. Then John handed him a beer and gave him a bear hug.

"I'm proud of you son" he said. Dean raised his glass and smiled down at Lisa. She was looking at him with smoking eyes that made him wonder if you could have sex in Heaven...

Then she winked at him and he took it as a yes.

Yeah. Heaven was looking up in his book.


End file.
